


Physicality

by Shapeshifter99



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hugging, Post Season 2 Episode 17, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 15:30:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3415943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shapeshifter99/pseuds/Shapeshifter99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichabod isn't quite used to how physical everyone is with each other in the twenty-first century. He gets the hang of it quickly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Physicality

**Author's Note:**

> I just wondered if maybe Ichabod would be a little weirded out by how easily everyone touches and hugs each other in the present day.

Ichabod Crane had always considered himself a rather emotional man. With that came the opinion that he was too physical; he always took the opportunity to lay a hand on his friend’s shoulders, to grip the hand of a dying comrade, or lean close to Katrina’s face and press their foreheads together. It was his comfort, his way of coping.

Still, he couldn’t help but be surprised when he landed in 2013 and everyone was so… _Touchy_. So many little actions that were apparently innocuous to them, but sent blaring alarms off in his own head.

Miss Abigail Mills was a prime example of this strange phenomenon. Every smile she gave was often punctuated with a nudge or perhaps a brush of fingers against an elbow. Even with perfect strangers that she bumped into, the lieutenant would laugh it off or grab their arm and ask if they were alright, concern and sheepishness etched into her features.

But it wasn’t just her. Miss Jenny would often pat him on the back as she walked by, sometimes harder than necessary. Kindly old ladies would clasp his hand in thanks once he’d helped him, and even Captain Irving would grip his forearm tightly in thanks before continuing on with his business.

All in all, it was rather confounding. Ichabod, who had once been considered a very physical person already, was faced with a world in which plenty of actions were acceptable, some of them bordering on strange. The fist bump, for example. It made absolutely no sense, but Abbie made a point of doing it with him often after Abraham had escaped their clutches. It was strange, but after a while, Ichabod started to get used to it, and almost enjoyed it.

Not that he would admit it to the lieutenant, of course.

There were other things that he settled into as well. The conditioning caused by having all different sorts of people touch him in brief, yet comforting ways soon made him react in much the same way. But oddly enough, it was only with Abbie.

Small things, at first. Perhaps the childish tug on her coat when he wanted to ask her something, the disappearance of his need to remove himself to a respectable distance whenever she got to close in her fierce intensity.

Then it was simply holding her elbow and gently steering her whenever she got distracted and lost track of where they were going while she was on her phone, or stepping between her and whoever she was planning on having an argument with, so close that he could almost feel her hot, angry breaths on his chest.

A thousand small touches, each building up to something that he wasn’t quite aware of yet. But the worst was whenever she was in danger, whenever his breath ran out and all that would be pounding in his head was a repetition of her name: _Abbie, Abbie, Abbie._

Whenever that happened, he found himself unable to do anything but to fold her into his lanky frame, to hold her close and let the beat of her heart and returning embrace warm the chill that crept like ice down his back. It was like the very touch of her skin soothed and quieted his too-loud mind that was unable to forget everything it had seen.

However, it was only until Katrina came back that Ichabod realized how quickly he had acclimated into this new society, this new life. She was nervous and worried, that was clear, but every touch he made in an attempt to soothe her brought out mingled surprise and pleasure. He didn’t really wonder at why that was until Katrina grabbed his hand one day and explained that it was simply unusual and disconcerting. Chagrined, he’d immediately pulled back and made an effort to stay distanced physically.

Abbie didn’t have any qualms about it. Unconsciously it seemed, the touches that she and Ichabod shared grew more and more frequent and eventually bordered an intimacy that Jenny, Irving and even Hawley found surprising. The lieutenant didn’t seem to care all that much, but Ichabod found himself on the defensive at every tease and made a conscious effort to touch her less. But by the time Hawley left their lives for good, he had relapsed without even noticing it.

When Katrina left him was perhaps the worst. Not only was the agony of having his love ripped from him aching and raw in his heart, but Abbie was gone as well. Jenny was certain that Abbie had ended up in the past and would undoubtedly returned to them, but Ichabod simply craved her presence, his worry a dull, throbbing ache that almost hurt worse than the wounds Katrina had inflicted. Not a moment went while they waited to see if the lieutenant would return that Ichabod wished for her to be present, to comfort him with a squeeze of his hand, one of her warm smiles or even a ridiculous fist bump.

The only person who he wished to be comforted by was the one who was gone, and that simply made him hurt tenfold.

So when about a day and a half later the air in the room where Katrina and Abbie had vanished started to crackle, Ichabod felt his anxiously beating heart speed up further. There was a great whooshing sound, along with an explosion of light… And out stepped Abigail.

There was a simple moment of stupid incredulity as Ichabod stared at a dirt-streaked Miss Mills, dressed in male colonial garb and breathing hard.

“Crane?” she said faintly.

That broke the stupor over him. Within seconds, Ichabod launched himself to his feet and strode towards his lieutenant, reaching her in a few long steps. Before she had time to react, or even smile, he grabbed her into a tight hug. Pressing his face into her slightly mussed up dark hair, he breathed in the faint scent of her shampoo and, more importantly, her.

Abbie let out a little half-sigh before returning the hug, crushing herself against him as she pressed her face against his chest. Ichabod was certain that she could probably hear the ridiculously loud pounding of his heart, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Just having her in his arms again was making the pain and worry melt away, leaving only a deep, soul-shattering relief.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his mouth muffled from where it was pressed to the crown of her head.

For a moment, Abbie didn’t reply, and he felt his worry spike again. But she simply shook her head, pressed her face harder against his chest and murmured back, “I’m fine now that I’m back.”

The ‘with you’ was unspoken, but clearly felt. Ichabod squeezed her once, feeling as if the world was alright now that they had each other again.

 


End file.
